The Billionaire’s Contract Wife Can't Let Go のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 111 - チャプター 120

Dana POV: Dana Dances With Hester Bednar I withdraw my hand from his arm and clear my throat. “Ahem. Sorry.""It's fine," Alex says. "We can go see Barber.""Henreich Barbish.""Yeah. Henry Barbish."I glance at Hester's face to find a small, quiet smile waiting for me there. Across the room, Winston Baxter finishes his speech and the room opens into applause. Hester claps. I join in. Alex doesn't. There's a sedate smile sitting on his face instead. He seems pleased about something. Some of my anxiety at touching him like that fritters away. I exhale slowly. So he isn't angry that I grabbed his arm like that. Good. I'm going to make an effort not to be so relaxed around him to the point where is touch him like that again. I reach in my clutch and rummage for the recorder. I click on the recorder. I'd like to listen to our conversations here later. The applause fades. I happen to look across at Hester, and he's staring at me."You don't happen to have a soft copy of that book, do y

Dana POV: Dana Breaks Down At The Party"A-Alex," I mumble, my heart hammering. "Were you looking for us? Hester was showing me a painting up in the gallery." I pause, watching his face. "Did you know there's a gallery in this building?"He shrugs. "This is my first time here. Same as you."It's his expression. That's what makes the moment unbearable. The way he's looking at me as if I'm stained. I wish it was his words and not that dismal shrug. It was the same expression he had on the night he accused me of cheating, standing in our kitchen with his jaw set and his eyes already decided. He's wearing it now, and he's pointing it at me. He turns it on Hester too, a look of distrust, and a quiet distaste."O-oh, yes," I say, trying not to lose control of my mind. "It was a beautiful painting. We were just sitting there getting bored, so we thought we'd go and have a look.""It's okay," he says, his voice is flat. "Did you take a picture?"Hester slaps his own forehead. "Damn. We shou

Dana POV: Alex Lost To Charles—AgainI can't sleep.I thought he would stop me at the door and say something but he didn't. I go to the door, press my ear to it and listen for footsteps. He will come back and I'll pretend I don't expect be will. But none of that is happening. I blame myself. I do. I should have held it together, kept the private things private, not made a scene in the middle of a fundraising ball with a near-stranger watching.I make a fist and smack the bed. I also blame Alex. I blame him for the look on his face. That look, the one I recognize from the worst night of our marriage, the one that says: “I've already decided what happened here.” I didn't think he had that much jealousy in him. Or maybe I knew and didn't want to know. Either way, it's not something I can unknow now, and it makes everything feel strange.I shower. The water is warm, so I linger in it for some time. Ten minutes later, I feel marginally better. I drag the heavy chair from the corner of

Dana POV: He's Not Jealous Anymore "Okay," Alex says. "Let's hear it.""No, you go first."We look at each other across the breakfast table. Neither of us moves. The coffee is getting warm between us and the toast is going cold and we are both, apparently, committed to waiting the other one out. I feel my hands tremble slightly beneath the table, not from fear, exactly, but from the expression on his face. He's giving me that doubtful stare again, in a way that makes me want to say my piece before I lose my nerve."Okay," I say. "It's about Cilian's idea. He got Charles to do it. They incorporated yesterday. Charles called to tell me last night."Alex is quiet for a moment. "Oh. Wow." He starts to say something else, then stops, looking a little flustered.I lean forward, my voice soft. "I'm sorry, Alex. I didn't realize Charles would . . . I didn't know he could move that fast. He and Jack got friendly somehow, and then the three of them just . . . Charles loved the concept and wen

Dana POV: Barbish Knew About Dana The street where Henreich Barbish lives is the kind that seems to exist slightly outside of time. Old trees line both sidewalks with roots that have been quietly lifting the pavement for decades, and the neighborhood carries an unhurried hush.The car slows. I look out the window at the house, and something in my chest does a slow, quiet turn.It looks like a street in New Orleans. The architecture is different, the light is different, but the feeling that there's something enchanted about the homes, reminds me of Mayfair Street. Six months after our wedding, Alex and I had spent a week in New Orleans, and one afternoon we'd walked Mayfair Street because someone had told us it was rumored to have been populated by witches in the 1800s. We had held hands the whole length of it, which was probably superstition on both our parts, and Alex had pretended not to be unsettled by any of it. I had pretended to believe him.I turn toward him, about to remin